


The Mistress

by TheBeckster



Category: Rune Factory (Video Games), Rune Factory 4
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Consensual Infidelity, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gen, I wrote this all in one night, POV Second Person, SPOILERS IN FOLLOWING TAGS, Spoilers for Arthur's Marriage Event, and then let it stew for several weeks, hopefully I caught all my tense and pov oopsies, working around characters not having canon names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24246328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBeckster/pseuds/TheBeckster
Summary: Fair Warning for blatant spoilers for Arthur's Marriage Event!You are a mistress of the King. Notthemistress, simply one of several. You have a son. You know for your son to live to his full potential, you must not be in his life. You destroy the best thing to ever happen to you.
Relationships: Arthur's Mother/ The King, background Arthur/Frey
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	The Mistress

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm working on another, bigger RF4 fic that also happens to include some of Arthur's marriage event, and sometime during my 4th or 5th watch of the event for research I started thinking about what Arthur's Mother's reasoning for the things she did was, and how events might have played out from her perspective. What I thought was gonna be a little 2k thing turned into this.
> 
> I did some experimenting with this fic and made some Choices. First was going from 2nd person pov and avoiding names where I could, since most of the characters don't have canon names. I thought it would be fun to work around with titles and epithets instead. Second was intentionally limited dialogue. I'm interested in feedback for how my Choices worked out.
> 
> Be Warned! If you do not want spoilers for Arthur's marriage event, do not keep reading. It should go without saying, but this fic is nothing but spoilers for the event.
> 
> Otherwise let's have some additional content warnings, in case you didn't read the tags: Very mild sexual content, infidelity via mistresses, purposeful emotional/mental abuse and manipulation done my a parent to a child.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**The Mistress**

You are a mistress of the King. Not _the_ mistress, simply one of several. The King collects mistresses like one would stamps, and you somehow found yourself to be one of them.

You aren’t like his other mistresses. They all come from high born stock; wealthy families of noble background. You are the daughter of tailors; hard-working, level-headed people. You always expected you would find a husband of the same stock, a craftsman or merchant. Someone like all the others you have dated before – within your social status.

How and why you draw the King’s eye, you’ll never know. One day you are going about your business in the market and then a representative of the King is at your side and in your ear asking you to accept the King’s invitation.

You accept. Who in their right mind says ‘no’ when the King asks?

You meet the King, he flatters you and flirts. You blush and stammer out responses, having heard rumor of his wandering eye and voracious appetite for women. He already has a companion with him, a young woman just about your age, dressed in some of the finest clothes your practiced eyes have seen. She is not the Queen. She is far too young. She hardly seems bothered by the King’s actions. Once, you feel as if she is trying to give you a silent, secret message with her eyes, but you cannot interpret it.

You are far too distracted by the King. Despite being twice your age, he hardly acts it and he hardly looks it. He’s still handsome, well groomed, charming, irresistible.

When he asks you to return with him to the palace, you hardly hesitate to agree. You don’t even hear his promises of riches and comfort while you reside there. You’re in it for the thrill. You suspect you will be let go amicably when he tires of you, and you will return home to your friends and family with an incredible story to tell. After all, how many common girls get to step through the palace gates, much less bed the King?

You return home to pack your things and tell your parents. They are not happy, but they let you choose your own path. They suspect, as you do, that sooner rather than later you will return home, the temporary play thing of the King. They tell you they will pray for your happiness as they hug you goodbye. You step into the carriage that was sent for you and leave your old life behind.

You feel giddy as you wind slowly through the city. It is as if you are traveling to a new country rather than just to the palace.

You dine privately with the King. You have been dressed in an exquisite gown at the King’s recommendation, and you can feel his eyes on you during the entire meal. He is counting down the seconds until he can remove that exquisite gown.

You are not a blushing virgin. You let him know each time he flirts that you reciprocate his excitement. You are looking forward to tonight as much as he is, despite the butterflies in your stomach.

You wake up in a bed that’s almost as big as your old bedroom, tangled up in silk sheets, with a blanket draped tenderly over your bare shoulders. You are alone. You realize it’s already mid-morning and you have been given a luxury you aren’t often allowed – the chance to sleep in. You stretch languidly as you sit up. As if they had been waiting, you are set upon by maidservants. They bring you breakfast, they draw you a bath, they dress you in a simpler dress than the gown you wore the night before, but no less elegant. And when you are ready, you are introduced to the Head Butler. He in turn introduces you to the rest of the mistresses.

You also meet some of the young princes and princesses. Somehow you never considered that the numerous heirs to the throne didn’t all come from the Queen. It makes sense, upon consideration, no one woman should ever be expected to birth over a dozen children. The thought makes you shudder. You aren’t particularly fond of the thought of birthing even one child.

You are given your own suite within the mistresses’ wing of the castle and anything else you could desire. Servants wait on you as attentively as if you were royal blood. You get to know the other mistresses. Some are kind, some are distant, some are friendly, others bawdy, and some look upon you with disdain. You know why. It’s clear from the first introduction that you and the other mistresses are not the same people.

Not one of them has ever worked a day in her life. They have never known what it is to be cold and under clothed, to be sick but prioritize food above medicine, to be at the mercy of nature to grow your much needed vegetables. They are nobility, some maybe even distant royalty from another country. And you… you are a commoner. Never the less, you are welcomed, begrudgingly or not, because for the time being, you are the King’s favorite.

You quickly become enthralled with the splendor of it all. You have fun playacting a noble woman. And the King is the best partner you’ve ever had. He at least, is something you will not come to regret. You melt through the long summer sharing a bed with the King.

Autumn comes, and you suspect you will return home soon. It is his cycle, the other mistresses tell you, he takes a new woman for a season, and when he becomes bored of her, he moves on. Some girls go home; others take the offer of a comfortable home in the castle.

Autumn comes, and you find you are with child. You know this should not come as a shock, considering how active your sex life had become over the last four months, and yet the news leaves you numb and cold. Your first thought is to run back home, flee before anybody else knows and raise your child there. What future could they possibly have as the bastard of a king and a commoner? How different would their life be compared to the noble-born princes and princesses?

The palace doctor tells on you. The King is beside himself with joy. He is never unhappy to welcome another child of his into the world. Why would he be? He’s not the one carrying said children.

He tells you that your child will be a fully-fledged prince or princess of Norad. He won’t stand for his children to be on unequal ground. And he asks for you to stay in the palace, to stay and bear his child and let them grow up into their birthright. He knows as well as you do that before the child, you were leaving with the summer. He knows that the palace will never be home for you, but it should be for your child.

You agree to stay. You spend a glorious night together. Then the King leaves on foreign business. He is gone for two months.

You are currently the only pregnant mistress. This gains you sympathy and renewed companionship from those that have birthed royals before, and jealousy from those who have yet to conceive. You even garner a visit from the Queen.

She has a begrudging acceptance of you mistresses, knowing full well there is nothing she could do to stop the King’s wandering eyes and hands. She remains secure in the fact that she provided the first four Princes of Norad, and it was unlikely that any son not born of a legitimate union would ever take the kingdom’s throne. The mistresses’ children may be more numerous, but they are all relegated to lesser thrones.

You tell yourself you don’t care about titles and thrones. What does a common woman care for such things anyway? You want your child to be kind and thoughtful and hard-working and grounded, like you. You shudder to think they might become as vapid and empty-headed as the women around you, and even some of the princes and princesses you have met. Some of them took to their royal privileges a bit too easily, and they are as lazy as can be.

The King returns as autumn begins to dip deeper into winter. He is not alone. He brings a mistress, a Countess, whose belly is already rounded with child. You then remember a trip the King took early in your tryst out to the same region he just returned from.

You feel a twinge of jealousy, wishing that for a short time, being pregnant could make you the special one for a bit longer. The jealousy does not last.

You and the Countess become fast friends. Her father’s territory is wide but the population is small, home to mostly farmers and shepherds. They grow much of the grain distributed throughout the kingdom. Even so, titles mean little there, she grew up working fields and tending livestock. She is as much a commoner as you are, regardless of what your titles say.

You become happy for a friend as you progress through your pregnancies together. She admits to jealousy that your early months are not nearly as miserable as hers were – there were days when she was too ill to stand, much less consider traveling back to the capital.

With her as a companion, you hardly notice that the King has hardly looked at you since you became pregnant. And when he finds someone else to warm his bed through the winter, you find you don’t mind in the least.

The Countess gives birth in the early days of spring, providing the King with the Twelfth Prince and Eighth Princess of Norad. You learn a lot about newborn care helping your friend. And you pray as you go through your final months that your child is a girl. You wouldn’t want a son to be cursed with such an unlucky title as the Thirteenth Prince; though it would suit him as the son of a lowly commoner.

There is a grand festival to celebrate the beginning of summer and you miss it entirely as you are in the throes of labor. The King is not there – as delighted as he is for new children, he never attends the births – but you have an army of midwives and your friend at your side.

Sometime in the wee hours of morning, you bring your son into the world.

You name him Arthur D. Lawrence, Thirteenth Prince of Norad.

Arthur is the light of your life. Every moment with him is the happiest you have ever been. You see much of yourself in him – your fine blonde hair, your nose, your smile – and much of his father – his eyes, his chin, one particular expression when he is concentrating hard.

The months and years begin to fly past. You watch Arthur learn to sit up, and then crawl, then stand and walk and talk. You blink and he’s now a toddler, chasing his siblings around on chubby legs, screeching happily, as carefree as any child should be.

You watch him grow close and form his first friendships with the Countess’ children. They get into such mischief with each other. You know when they grow up they will be an unstoppable trio.

But then, the Countess’ father dies, and she must return home to take over his seat. Naturally, she takes her children with her. Both you and Arthur lose your only friends in the same day. Arthur is only four. He can’t understand why they are leaving.

You begin to notice a change. It’s in the way the other mistresses treat you, it’s in the way they talk about Arthur. His tutors never treat him different from any of the other princes, and his older siblings don’t mistreat him in any way that you can see. You hold your head high, and do what you can to shield Arthur from the vile whispers.

Arthur is eight when he tells you he doesn’t feel like he fits in with his siblings. He had just had to be fitted for his first pair of glasses. He hates them because they are new and uncomfortable. Some of his other siblings need glasses – poor eyesight runs in the King’s bloodline – but that knowledge does little to comfort him. He doesn’t tattle on any of his siblings for saying something rude, and you suspect he isn’t hearing it from the children.

You confide in the King. You know Arthur will never be treated equal to his siblings by the other mistresses if you continue living in the palace. Your past, your lack of title, your low status was something the other mistresses were never going to move past.

The King looks somber as he asks if you want to take Arthur away from the palace, if you want to return home with him.

You shake your head. Arthur doesn’t know your family. He hasn’t seen your parents since he was a toddler, and by now he has forgotten them entirely. You were the one to decide it was better if he didn’t know where you really came from. He is happy in the palace, he likes being a Prince, he loves his siblings, and tutors, and the butlers, and nannies. Here he has a future.

With you, he has nothing. You can go back to being nothing but a tailor’s daughter. You would be happy to do so. Arthur would be miserable. Already he’s so smart, showing intelligence beyond his years. He needs the education being a Prince would afford him.

You lay out a plan. The King doesn’t like it. He blusters about ordering the other mistresses to stop speaking ill about you and Arthur, but even as he says it, he knows that would never work. He asks why the boy has to hate you. Why you have to torture yourself and destroy the most meaningful relationship in your life.

You know it is the only way.

If he still loves you, and you disappear, he will tear himself apart trying to bring you back. If he hates you, he’ll smile as you walk away and move on with his life.

You, the King, and Arthur take one last trip together. You enjoy the last time you can be a happy family together. You spoil Arthur and play games and memorize the sound of his laughter and the look of a smile on his face. This very well may be the last time you see or hear them.

The last leg of your trip brings you to a remote town called Selphia, you only know it by name as one of the Native Dragons resides there. She is fearsome and imposing, and you can feel Arthur’s hand trembling in yours as you make your respects to her. But you swear you catch from the corner of your eye the Divine Dragon of the Wind give your son a playful wink and smile on your way out the door.

You like Selphia, it’s a tight-knit little community, and the fact that the town is built around a swatch of farmland belonging to the castle reminds you of your dear Countess friend and tales of her own home. You are disappointed to see the farmlands sit fallow and barren in the absence of a master to tend them.

You stay at the local inn, where Arthur and the innkeeper’s young daughter attempt to see who could prove themselves the most tireless. The toddler wins.

There is a member of the De Sainte-Coquille family in this remote town. He has turned part of his manor into a restaurant and the food is exquisite. You dine there several times during your stay. And you realize that eccentricities must run in the De Sainte-Coquille blood. One of the other mistresses that you had gotten along with better than most was a distant cousin of the restauranteur.

You catch wind of a cute little tradition in Selphia. Outside of town there is a special cave where lovers and families will carve their names upon the stone. Legend has it that any names carved together are destined for an eternity of happiness.

Arthur catches wind of the legend too from some local children. Once he has it, he will not let it go. You and the King indulge his fantasy and make the short hike to the cave. As he carefully scratches his name onto a flat wall of rock with a piece of quartz stone, you feel a pang of sadness. You already know what the future will bring to him. It is not eternal happiness.

You hope as you add your name beside his that this fades into nothing but a happy, childhood memory, quickly forgotten with time.

When you return to the capital, your plan goes into full swing. You make a final request of the King.

You can’t let Arthur believe any more that you love him. The King must be sure Arthur knows his father still does.

You start slow and subtle. To change so suddenly would draw suspicion. You know it will take years for the resentment and hatred to build up enough to cut ties entirely.

You start by rejecting hugs and kisses, scolding him for things that don’t deserve it, feigning disinterest when he tells you something. You miss important recitals and family meals. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done, and every day you nearly give up. Your heart breaks every time you see the disappointment in his eyes. You hate yourself as he begins to temper his expectations of you.

But it’s not enough.

You mix in with the cattier mistresses, the ones who resent one thing or another about their position, but never bother to leave or fix things. The shrews who pit their children against one another for their father’s favor. Who openly mock new mistresses. Who are cold and cruel to the children they did not bear. You hate them, but you blend into their ranks so well, letting slip occasional comments about Arthur. You wish he was more athletic like his older brothers. You’re afraid with all the time he spends studying he’ll never amount to anything important. Meeting his father was the worst thing to ever happen to you. You almost can’t stand to look at him.

You never realized you were such a talented actress.

You go to bed every night loathing yourself.

Arthur gets older, begins to enter adolescence, and you can tell he is beginning to hate you. You hear it in the cool way he calls you “Mother” and in the stiffness of the hugs he feels obligated to give you when prompted by the Head Butler.

It’s not enough, and you can’t do this much longer.

You complain of failing eyesight. You obtain a fake pair of glasses. You wear them everywhere, and you sympathize with your son when he first began wearing glasses. They are uncomfortable and take some getting used to. The lenses aren’t perfect and distort your vision a touch, leaving you with mild headaches that give you a permanent scowl and sour expression.

You hate how well it sells your act to the others.

You make a show of removing your glasses whenever you have to address Arthur directly. You see clearly on his face the scorn and hurt as he realizes what you are doing. Your own cruel words have reached him. You can’t stand to look at him.

He stops speaking to you entirely, only forcing out polite words when instructed to.

You are forever grateful to the Head Butler, who has taken over raising your son where you cannot. He is now your son’s confidant and comforter. He is to your son what you desperately wish you could be. But none of the mistresses scorn Arthur for being raised by a butler. After all, they all left the rearing of their own children in the hands of the staff. Noble women don’t raise their own children; such things are for commoners.

One day, the King makes a public display of pulling you aside from the other mistresses. It is as planned. The time has come for you to leave, and to the others, it must look like you are being dismissed.

A carriage is waiting to finally return you to your parents; to take you back where you belong. You go home just before Arthur’s twelfth birthday.

You are allowed occasional visits, only once or twice a season. You space them out as long as you can bear. The King offers a private room for you and Arthur to sit together and talk. You refuse it. You are supposed to have been cast from the palace disgracefully for being cruel to your own son. You know you aren’t supposed to be let back on palace grounds.

You wait six months before you see Arthur for the first time. By now your leaving has had a long time to fester in him; you know it’s turning into true hatred.

It is a bitter cold, snowy day when you return to the castle. You step out of your carriage as Arthur hurries down the palace steps. You wait at the heavy, iron portcullis for him to approach. As he does, you make a point of removing your glasses. You can see crystal clear the disdain on his brow as he stops several feet away. He has grown several inches taller since you saw him last.

You ask him to come closer, reminding him of your awful vision. He obliges and gets close enough for you to touch. He flinches when you touch his cheek, but he doesn’t pull away.

You ask him about his life since you left. His answers are cold and mechanical. He tells you much of what you already know; the King keeps you informed of Arthur’s wellbeing. You know the Countess’ children are back in the palace, to bond with their siblings and get the rich education they couldn’t get out in their little town. You are happy that he has friends again to help him through this.

You do not talk for long. You see Arthur become aware of the disinterest in your face. You watch him shuffle and make an awkward excuse about the cold and returning to a lesson. He lies and says it was nice to see you again. You turn back to your carriage before he can finish saying goodbye.

You watch surreptitiously from behind the curtain as the carriage pulls away. Arthur does not move from the gate. He stands there a moment and wipes at his eyes.

You wait until you are home before breaking into your own tears.

The visits continue as such; none ever lasting longer than five minutes. You can count the number of times you have seen him since leaving the palace on your fingers. You hate it. It breaks your heart. But this is the way it has to be. When you are not around, he thrives. He is loved by his siblings, he excels in his studies, he is shaping up to be a great leader one day.

When you are with him…

You sense the change when Arthur starts considering these visits a chore and a bother. You feel it in his cold eyes as he glares at you that the hatred has taken root.

You plan one last visit, the day before his fifteenth birthday.

Arthur does not speak to you during that last visit, other than the obligatory ‘Hello, Mother.’

Your hands are trembling and you call your son over one last time, knowing this will be the last time you can see him so close. You can already see the handsome man he will grow up to be. You know how sweet and intelligent he is from his father’s letters, but you see none of the kindness. You see nothing of the little boy who loved to give you clumsy kisses and share his sweets and read _you_ bedtime stories just to show off the new words he had learned.

You want to reach out to him, but you don’t. You wrap your trembling hands tight around the iron bars of the portcullis. You can feel the wire of your glasses bending under your grip, but you don’t care. You’ll never wear them again after this.

No words pass between you. Arthur stares, but you can see he isn’t expecting anything from you. You know you must say something, but all the words that come to mind feel empty and meaningless. You think of confessing everything, but you know he would never believe it. Half his life has been spent believing you hate him. One confession would not change his mind.

A girl calls for Arthur from the steps of the palace. You recognize the Countess’ daughter, even after all this time – she looks almost exactly like her mother. You can see the change in her body language when she realizes who Arthur is talking to.

Arthur looks ready to leave. It’s your shortest visit ever. The ‘goodbye’ is already on his lips when you blurt out, “Wait!”

He turns back to face you, his eyes glaring fiercely, almost ablaze with rage.

“I’d like to give you one word of advice before we part. It’s a birthday present.”

He crosses his arms, but gestures for you to continue.

You want the words to be profound, meaningful, something that will actually serve him for his future. But you realize he already has a wealth of advice like that. Yours would be meaningless. So you opt for something a little selfish, something you hope to drop a little clue into.

“People are not to be trusted.”

He doesn’t understand. You don’t expect him to yet. You see his face screw up in anger, a retort ready to be unleashed, but you don’t give him the chance.

You turn quickly away from him, pushing off the gate. Your glasses slip from your hands and fall to the stone at his feet.

You are in your carriage by the time he stoops to pick up the glasses. You can see one of the lenses has cracked. You issue a terse command to the driver to leave quickly. You are moving by the time he calls for you.

“Mother!” His arm is poking through the gate, holding your glasses.

You tell the driver not to stop. You almost don’t hear his last call to you. Your heart shatters as his words fade.

You return home only to leave again. This trip had been planned for several years now. You know you cannot trust yourself to continue living in the capital. The desire to see Arthur would be too great.

The King has supplied you with an ample allowance since leaving the palace to cover living expenses. You have supplemented that greatly by working as a tailor in the intervening years. It will be some time before you have to work again.

Your parents hug you goodbye once more. They have watched you torment yourself. They understand all too well why you did what you had to. They understand why you have to run away.

You first make your way out to a distant, little farming town. You are received coolly by the Countess, but your old friend doesn’t turn you away. Naturally, she asks with much venom how you could ever do such things to your own son.

You confess everything to her.

She doesn’t accept that it was the only way to ensure Arthur’s equal treatment, but she accepts that it seemed to be _your_ only option. You spend a lot of time with her, wallowing in your own self-loathing. She helps you begin to heal.

You take up traveling professionally, working for a company that pays you to write guides to various towns and cities across the kingdom. The traveling helps. The distance and time helps. Meeting new people, seeing how others live their lives, having someplace new to go each day helps.

You know you’ll never forgive yourself for what you did to Arthur, but as time passes you hate yourself less and less.

Almost a decade passes before you see Arthur again. You happen to be visiting your parents in the capital city for a couple weeks. You are one in a crowd of thousands; he would never be able to pick you out. Still, you keep a reasonable distance.

He is here with a young woman, a triumphant hero who somehow managed to do what armies and warriors and generals could not. She defeated the leader of the Sechs Empire. Ethelberd himself was no more.

Naturally, there is a hero’s welcome and celebration for her.

You can see, even from a distance, that while Arthur and the hero are smiling, their eyes are hollow with grief. You wonder what was sacrificed to bring about their victory.

You learn a few days later that the Native Dragon in Selphia has passed on.

A couple years later, you receive a letter of warning from the King. He tells you that it seems Arthur has finally begun to move on. He might even be ready to forgive you, or at least reconnect.

Another letter comes six months later, informing you of Arthur’s marriage and his permanent settlement in the town of Selphia.

You wonder if it might be time to start building bridges again. You decide it is best if you stay away. If Arthur has finally begun to heal from the hurt you caused, he doesn’t need you stepping back into his life and messing things up again.

You let a year pass, doing all you can to avoid Selphia during your travels.

Your job doesn’t give you the chance to stay away. That fantastic restaurant in Selphia needs an updated review. The whole town’s guide needs updating after the hero put it back on the map. The festivals are out of date, half the listed merchants no longer trade there, and there is a slew of brand new merchants instead.

It’s going to be a long assignment, and you are the only one available for the job. You beg to trade for a different assignment. You come up with a dozen excuses for why you can’t go, except the real one. You are given two choices: take the Selphia assignment, or find a new job.

You don’t want to quit. Your boss doesn’t want you to quit. This job is the second best thing to ever happen to you. You take the Selphia assignment.

You arrive with a crowd of tourists and book a room at the hotel and bath house. The innkeeper is the same as last time, but she doesn’t appear to recognize you at all. After talking about the town for a while, you get the impression she’s a bit forgetful.

You visit the restaurant and take a seat at the counter. The De Sainte-Coquille recognizes you in an instant. You are very quick to inform him that you are not here for your son, this is a work trip, and he is absolutely not allowed to know you are here.

The chef leans in and informs you that they discovered your little ruse.

You feign confusion.

He continues gleefully: a couple years ago, Arthur and his now-wife found your glasses weren’t prescription. They put together pieces of your behavior from that family vacation so long ago, and your behavior towards Arthur during his childhood. Putting together what they learned about your status as a common-born mistress, Arthur realized what you had done for him.

He has forgiven you.

You want to believe the chef, but you know forgiveness in theory is not always forgiveness in practice.

He at least seems to understand, and warns you that unless you want an abrupt reunion to happen, you best move on. Arthur always eats lunch with his wife at this time. You thank him and beat a hasty retreat.

On the way out, you hold the door for a woman you vaguely recognize. It takes you a moment to remember the young hero who defeated Ethelberd. She thanks you and steps into the restaurant. You watch as she meets up with a man who just entered through a side door.

Arthur kisses his wife in greeting and places a gentle hand on her round belly. You realize you are staring and run for it before either of them notice.

You head for the castle, determined more than ever to get your job done quickly and get the hell out of town. You were told this was the place to inquire about local festivals.

A young man, a butler in training leads you into the castle, happy to provide you with any information you need about the local festivals, however, he thinks if you want the best perspective on local history and tradition, there is no one better to ask than Lady Ventuswill.

It doesn’t register that he is talking about the Native Dragon until you enter the audience chamber. You thought she was dead. You knew the Native Dragons had a reincarnation cycle, but you thought the new Divine Dragon of Wind was supposed to be an entirely new being. And you thought it took longer than that to come back. It had only been a few years; at the very least she would still be a baby dragon.

But there she is, looking exactly as she did almost twenty years ago. But her mannerism has changed so much. She greets you and the butler casually, and welcomes you to Selphia.

And then she looks at you properly. Her eyes narrow and she mutters something about recognizing you. It is all you can do to not flinch back several steps when she lowers her head to get a better look.

She hums and grumbles and dismisses the butler. She waits until he is clear of the room before calling you out on your true identity. You stumble through yet another explanation as to why you are in town, and emphasized that you are not here to see your son.

When she asks why, you mutter through half a dozen explanations that she doesn’t really buy. You realize that lying to a dragon-god might not be a safe choice, and admit quietly that you don’t think you deserve to see him again, not when he’s so happy. You know your presence will just hurt him.

The dragon says airily and with a sniff that she thinks it should be Arthur who decides whether or not you deserve to see him again, but she agrees to not alerting him of your presence.

You are able to talk about the real reason why you came to Selphia, and the dragon is more than happy to talk about her beloved town. She summarizes the festivals, and talks about a few local traditions. When you mention the sudden boom in activity in Selphia over the last few years, she attributes it all to one person, the Princess Frey.

That gives you pause, and you ask about the Princess. You wonder if that’s the same young woman Arthur married. You hadn’t heard anything about her being a princess. You wonder what kingdom she came from.

The dragon tells you strictly off the record, that Frey wasn’t actually a princess when she arrived in Selphia, but through a strange turn of events, took up your son’s own title as Royal when he arrived in Selphia just after she did. She only truly became a princess after marrying Arthur.

You ask the dragon to go back and explain the so-called Prince Swap. The dragon lifts her wings in an approximation of a shrug and tells you Arthur never particularly cared for his title. When he arrived in town and nobody really knew who he was, he happily gave it up and became a trader.

You laugh in disbelief, everything you did to avoid him being labeled a commoner, and he gives his own title up to the first amnesiac to fall from the sky.

You feel hollow and empty. Everything you did to him, and it ended up being for nothing.

You thank the Native Dragon for her time and head back to your hotel. Despite the fine day, you feel a black cloud of despair gathering over you. You soak miserably in the bath, contemplating just staying there until you dissolve into nothing. But then you hear younger voices enter the changing room, and you recognize Arthur’s wife from the babble of her friends. You retreat and hope she doesn’t see you.

You do your quickest work ever in Selphia, blowing through shops and interviewing residents like your life depends on it. In a way, you think it does. You’re pretty sure dodging in and out of shops to avoid being seen by your son or his wife is going to kill you. And if that doesn’t get you first, the guilt will.

Aside from the chef and the dragon, you go unrecognized by anyone else. That at least gives you some relief.

You reach the end of the week and you’ve taken a seat on one of the couches in the hotel lobby to go over your notes. You think you have everything you need. If you’re lucky, you can get out of town tomorrow.

You bounce your pen against your lips as your read over your notes again. Your details on the local fishing festivals are a little sparse, but how much do you really need? They are festivals in which people fish. You at least have the different seasonal themes right, you double checked those.

Someone approaches and calls to you in a sweet, gentle voice.

You look up, ready to scoot over and share the couch, but stop when you realize who it is.

The princess looks down at you, and you can see in her eyes she knows exactly who you are. She asks to talk. You make room for her on the couch.

She confesses that the dragon let her in on your identity on Day One, and then assures you that Arthur still doesn’t know. She also adds with a fond smile, that Arthur does the same thing with his pens when he’s thinking hard.

You ask her why she didn’t tell him what she knew.

She shrugs and says it wasn’t her place to tell. She knows her husband and what he would like, but she doesn’t know anything about you and what you want.

You two talk for a long time, not just about you, but you get a little bit of the Princess’ story as well. At long last, you manage to explain to her just how undeserving of forgiveness you feel. She knows what you did to Arthur, the way you ruined his childhood, and forced him to hate you because you were afraid your commonness would follow him like a curse.

How could you ever expect to be forgiven for that? How could you expect Arthur would want anything from you, except an opportunity to spit in your face?

The Princess is quiet for a moment, thinking. She then admits that without your actions towards Arthur during his childhood, they may never be married. She wouldn’t be expecting a baby. She wouldn’t be so happy. She might not even have stayed in Selphia and made such incredible friends if not for what you did to Arthur.

You don’t get it.

She explains that Arthur initially chose to come to Selphia because of you, because of that cave you visited so long ago and carved your names into it. If his memory of that trip was pleasant, and only pleasant, and not the last time he could remember his mother showing him any affection, he would never have come back. The Princess wouldn’t have been pushed into her duties, she wouldn’t have felt as strongly about rescuing the Guardians and saving the Native Dragon’s life. She certainly would never have met Arthur, who continues to be the best thing that ever happened to her.

She quotes something to you, “Your past actions, good or bad, have placed you here, now, on this path. If not for them, this present wouldn’t be. And now that you are in this present, you have to keep making decisions to put you towards the future you want.”

You smile and wipe at the tears gathering in your eyes. You ask her how she became so wise with only four years of memory.

She laughs and says she learned it from her husband.

You smile bitterly, admitting that you didn’t teach him anything valuable.

She contradicts you, throwing your last words to Arthur back at you. You look at her shocked. She keeps smiling and explains the lesson Arthur learned about trust from your advice. That trust wasn’t something that just happened because one person said so. Trust was what someone believed in. One cannot trust someone else, unless they believe in it in their heart.

You are crying now, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks as the Princess watches you. He did listen, he figured it out, he knew the truth of everything. So why are you so hesitant to see your son again?

The Princess squeezes your hand as you wipe your cheeks dry with the other. She knows he has forgiven you. She knows he would like to see you again. She also understands why you might choose to slip away quietly.

She asks you to consider staying around for two more days, and meeting him then. It is a special date, after all.

You nod. That date has never passed you without notice in the last twenty-seven years. It is Arthur’s birthday after all.

You spend the next forty-eight hours warring with yourself, going back and forth on whether you should stay or flee. You even ask the chef and the dragon for advice. They tell you to stay and reconnect with your son.

Even as you step into the restaurant, you are still unsure of your decision. You linger for a moment by the door. You know it’s not too late to slip back out quietly without anyone taking notice. Then you are noticed.

The Princess slips up to your side and takes your arm. Her eyes are shining with unshed tears and you can see she’s happy enough to sing. She thanks you for coming and drags you deeper into the restaurant.

You think half the town has to be here, crammed into the dining room. There’s not an open seat at any of the tables and plenty are left standing as guests mingle and talk. You are pulled into the middle of the room. Arthur has his back to you as he chats with a tall man with fox-ears of all things.

The Princess calls his name, and he turns around to face you.

Time freezes. The party disappears. It feels as if it’s just you and Arthur and twenty years of resentment.

“Mother?”

“Arthur.” You are too afraid to speak first. Too afraid to say the wrong thing, to widen the gulf between you, to make him remember why he hates you. You can barely meet his eyes.

Then he smiles, holds out his hands, and says, “Come closer. Let me look at you.”


End file.
